


Infinite Regress

by Teddog



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Lovecraftian Shenanigans, M/M, Worst First Date?, cosmic horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25094473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teddog/pseuds/Teddog
Summary: It’s a beautiful, clear night at the Chaldea Security Organization and something unknowable is coming. Robin finds himself grappling with the lingering memories of Salem with a former teammate who remembers absolutely nothing.
Relationships: Robin Hood | Archer/Charles-Henri Sanson | Assassin
Comments: 11
Kudos: 40





	1. If We Get Through One More Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the feeling in Salem that Ritsuka was aware of only half of the plot. Everyone else was running around in secret to try to make sure their Master didn’t end up eaten by Cthulhus. Spoilers for Salem and Abby’s Interlude, if you’re concerned about that sort of thing. Thanks to [SLWalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker) for the beta!

The juxtaposition between Mata Hari’s appearance and composure was her most terrifying trait, Robin concluded. 

Physically, she lacked the uniform he expected of a woman whose legend was carved into the Throne of Heroes during wartime. Despite standing in a secluded room deep within Chaldea, dressed in an armor of lacy hair decorations and revealing clothing, the woman carried a quiet confidence. She was in her element right now. That was enough to make Robin on edge. 

Mata Hari had tried to explain her circumstances to Robin one lonely night while they were trapped in Salem. He claimed to understand everything she said, but in truth it went mostly over his head. Something about a “War To End All Wars”, which seemed more like a cruel joke than a literal truth. Still, her intimacy with war was enough to earn his respect. 

“Alright. I don’t think we were followed,” Mata Hari said in a low voice as she tapped on the door lock keypad. A light at the top flashed white, then red, before going dark again. “After Sheba told me about her visions, I followed up with Chaldea’s security team. I discreetly requested a change in staffing for the overnight shift.”

“You fed them bad information, didn’t you?” Robin scoffed. The one thing he could piece together about Mata Hari’s past was she had been a spy of some kind, although on a much different scope than the ones he remembered from his lifetime. 

Robin had wondered on the walk here how he fit into Mata Hari’s designs. Rumours were circling through Chaldea’s halls about more clairvoyant servants catching glimpses of something indescribable on the horizon. Something that neither humans nor servants had words for. 

Well, most servants. 

While matters of apocalyptic magic were right in Chaldea’s wheelhouse, only a few had read the reports about cosmic terrors from beyond the stars. Even fewer had stood against them. Sure, Gilles de Rais ran around screaming about the Sunken Spiral Castle and demonic magic on the regular, but not many who overheard him actually _believed_ him. 

A small smirk crossed Mata Hari’s lips. That was trouble. 

“Intelligence operations are being covered by Mash with my guidance. You know Mash would never pass along information that was defective. Not with stakes being as high as they are. So, no, we didn’t share bad intelligence.”

Robin tilted his head slightly at Mata Hari’s opaque comment. Maybe they didn’t share anything? This super-spy-double-speak gave him a headache. 

“But you definitely did _something_ ,” Robin prodded. 

“Staffing has been light since we stopped the incineration,” Mata Hari explained with a shrug. “There was an unfortunate scheduling slip up where no one was assigned to cover tonight’s overnight shift. I suggested your name, given your skill set. You’ll be a backup if our plans to handle the situation peacefully fail.” 

Mata Hari extended a hand, a security card lanyard hanging from her slim fingers. 

“Do we have a deal?”

Her request, as intentionally vague as it was, wasn’t as terrible as Robin expected. Ideally, the other recruits would stop whatever was coming soon enough that it wouldn’t manifest in this reality. If they wanted him to patrol the halls to make sure no one was shoving their nose where it didn’t belong, no problem. Maybe he wouldn’t have to see a single tentacle or angle that made him cross-eyed. 

Robin nodded and took the black lanyard, cementing the agreement. “Sure, I can handle it.”

“Wonderful,” Mata Hari said, clasping her hands together. Her expression shifted to a warm, genuine smile. “It’s great to have you back. Now that we don’t need to be so coy, Sheba and Geronimo know there’s a cosmic entity coming but want it resolved without violence. Based on the data from the pseudo singularity and their research, an entity this powerful should be intelligent enough to reason with us.”

Yeah, reason. In a blink, Robin wasn’t standing in Chaldea anymore. He was back in the Salem courthouse, gripping hold of a floor that didn’t have edges a second ago, desperately trying not to stare into the abyss under him. The razor thin threshold of reality sliced into his palms as he dragged himself back to the ground. His nostrils were full of a vile scent that he would later describe in the debriefing as a “the space between stars, but more foul”. 

“But what if it doesn’t want to?” Robin asked, snapping back to the present. 

“Robin, do you think you’re our only fail safe?” Mata Hari said flatly. The smile had fallen off her face. 

He grimaced and looked towards the floor, fumbling with the lanyard. As the slick cloth slipped through his hand, Robin noticed for the first time that there wasn’t just one lanyard.

“Wait, there’s two?” Robin looked back up at Mata Hari. “Did you rope the Crown Prince into this?”

Prince Nezha could hold her own against cosmic monsters. Hell, her fiery self confidence meant she probably didn’t have nightmares about how insignificant her existence was after coming back from the pseudo singularity. 

Mata Hari folded her arms. “No, we have other plans for Nezha. I want you to convince Charles to join you tonight.” 

\---

Robin had called Charles-Henri Sanson by his given name only once since returning from Salem. 

It slipped out as he left the cafeteria to file his mission report. He had just finished breakfast with Sanson and Medea. The meal had been more awkward than he wanted, given that Medea just invited herself to the table and that Sanson was, you know, alive. 

Medea dominated the meal’s conversation, digging for any scraps of information about Circe’s involvement with the mission. She would cling to the strangest details, like how her aunt insisted on cooking kykeon for every meal at the safe house. As Robin talked, Medea’s focus would shift away from the cafeteria and to somewhere else, probably a place centuries away from where they sat now. 

Sanson mostly sat with them in silence, reading over the plays the mission team performed in the pseudo singularity. Occasionally, he would speak up to validate casual observations Medea made about Circe’s antics, which meant he was at least partly listening. 

The conversation never swung over to what happened to Sanson in Salem. Medea didn’t really have any interest. Sanson didn’t prompt Robin for answers, either. The two of them acted as if it was completely normal for a dead man to be sitting at a table of, admittedly, long dead people. 

Bringing up the topic seemed like overstepping. Sanson had mentioned that their master, Ritsuka Fujimaru, promised to explain everything that happened after her debriefing was done. Robin couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy deep in his chest; it wasn’t like Ritsuka had been there for everything. 

Medea didn’t seem fazed as Robin excused himself from the table; she probably wasn’t listening anymore. Sanson didn’t voice a reply but he was fully paying attention: the script pages slipped out of his hands as he stared back in wide-eyed silence. Seconds felt like hours, until Sanson shifted his eyes to the papers now strewn across the floor. 

Way to strike out at any attempt at reconciliation, Robin thought to himself as he turned away. Not that there was anything to reconcile. 

There wasn’t any use in apologizing for actions the other party didn’t remember.

\---

“I guess I understand the importance of it,” Sanson said, flipping the security badge around and examining the inscription on the back.

The badge wasn’t what got Sanson to join the shift tonight. Actually, Robin wasn’t sure what got him to agree. He had merely passed along a message through one of the servants who he often saw socializing with Sanson, a young beauty who wore delicate pastels and a rapier. They seemed like the most normal member of whatever passed for Sanson’s inner circle. 

Sanson was waiting for Robin outside of the workshop at the start of the shift, security badge around his neck, no questions asked. While the other man was only slightly taller than Robin, his presence loomed much larger. The black long trench coat was a key factor in that; even without those stupid silver pauldrons displayed, it easily commanded all of the attention in a room. It wasn’t exactly the most welcoming aesthetic. 

“You’re telling me that you didn’t learn about this new-fangled equipment when you were summoned?” Robin asked as he looped his own lanyard around his belt. Mata Hari never said anything about making it visible. “I thought that was a prerequisite for those who upheld the law and those who broke it.” 

Sanson narrowed his eyes, silently processing what Robin said. Maybe he was looking for the insult. There wasn’t one. At least, not intentionally. 

“I was considering the visual significance, not that it’s a key. I know it’s a key,” Sanson finally replied. His tone sounded mellow; he probably came to the conclusion that Robin’s comment wasn’t a direct attack. He let the badge drop against his chest, where it swayed back and forth for a moment before eventually coming to a rest. “It’s like a policeman’s badge.”

Oh yes. Casual conversation was going to be so much fun tonight if this was the state of mind Sanson was in. 

Not that there was anyone around to listen in on the dry chatter. Chaldea was silent tonight; the two servants’ voices and footsteps echoed through the half-lit halls. Funding had slowed down in the same way staffing had. There was no use in keeping all of the lights on if people weren't busy saving the world. 

In that sense, calling what they were doing an “overnight security shift” was overselling it. It was more like taking a very long stroll around the complex and observing its gradual decline. What would have been bright corridors full of staff several months ago were now, if Robin was feeling slightly sentimental about it, cold and forgotten. 

Half filled boxes of equipment were left outside of open doorways, as if someone was trying to pack and gave up part way. Robin inquired about what the parts in one particular crate were meant for; in the low light, he could make out coils of different coloured wire, smaller cubes crafted from wood and cloth and a metal panel with sliders. Sanson could only shrug in reply. 

“I thought you were the scholarly type,” Robin said, leaving the crate untouched behind them. 

“I’m more of a doctor, not an engineer.” Sanson paused to slide the lid back on the crate, then increased his pace to catch up. A boring response but a predictable one. 

“Then use your imagination. Tell me what you think it is,” Robin suggested. 

“What’s the point of this patrol if we’re busy speculating about what the organization is doing and aren’t keeping vigil?” Sanson said, dodging Robin’s request. 

The point is to make sure no one else loses their damn minds staring at creatures that shouldn’t exist, Robin thought to himself. Not that he was sure Sanson’s mind could handle it. Mata Hari seemed convinced that it wouldn’t be a problem, but she was safely squirreled away in a security office. That wasn’t really reassuring. 

The other man’s footsteps stopped. It took a moment for Robin to register the change; he slowly looked over his shoulder, expecting to see the worst. 

Sanson stood several metres down the hallway. He seemed, well, normal, if not a touch more distant than before. Bright moonlight pooled through the windows, casting alternating cool blue light and dark shadow along the walls and floor. 

“What exactly are we looking for?” Sanson asked in a firm, calm voice.

Yeah. How to even begin to explain that one. Robin had tried doing that once, during the debriefing. He stumbled through adjectives that didn’t link together and left the Chaldea staff more confused than they had started. God, why couldn’t this be easier? 

“Nothing!” Robin burst out without thinking, then immediately regretted it. He coughed to clear his throat and gestured vaguely, as if he had lost the words he meant to say. “Really, we’re looking for nothing. You know, ideally.” 

Okay, that was probably the worst cover story he had spouted this lifetime. Sanson probably felt the same way; he sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Look, you invited me out on this strange patrol, despite never really having a kind thing to say to me before,” Sanson countered, then furrowed his eyebrows. Robin bit his tongue, holding off until Sanson processed his thoughts. “At least, nothing kind before the mission.” 

At least he noticed there was a change. 

“Are you sure you don’t remember anything about the mission?” Robin suggested. 

“You’re trying to get inside my head, aren’t you?” Sanson snapped back. He didn’t draw his weapon, but he shifted his feet slightly defensively, as if subconsciously anticipating something to happen. 

So, that’s it. 

A fleeting moment of unnerving self awareness clicked together in Robin’s head; the dual fears of sharing what was hidden and the horrors that could be revealed. The two of them had been at this crossroads before, once, even if only one of them remembered. It had started with almost the exact same words. 

Robin was about to open his mouth to speak when something caught his eye. Behind Sanson, where the glass windows met the ceiling, there was a movement. The growing form looked faint at first; a hazy, almost hypnotic, flow. It reminded Robin of watching cigarette smoke drifting through the night air.

It took Sanson a moment to pick up that Robin was staring behind him. Before he could turn his head, Robin threw himself wordlessly at Sanson. The two servants landed in a heap of limbs, rolling across the floor until they came to a rest a few feet away. Robin quickly wiggled a free hand to unlatch his cloak, knock it off his shoulders and drape it over the two of them. 

It was a risky play but seemed to hold for the moment; as long as they clung together under the cloth, whatever was coming wouldn’t be able to see, smell or hear them.

“I don’t think we need to be quiet but we should,” Robin whispered. “Try not to breathe if you can help it.”

Sanson didn’t have a reply. His eyes widened in horror at something above them, looking increasingly concerned. 

Slowly, as not to knock the cloak off, Robin followed Sanson’s gaze upward, eventually coming face to face with a long, meaty snout. There was a hissing sound as the creature inhaled, flaring long rows of nostrils like gills on a fish. Then, a popping noise as a tube-like tongue flicked out.

Droplets of blue ickor splattered off of the tongue and on the floor, inches away from Sanson’s face. He flinched. Robin tightened his grip on Sanson’s shoulders, a desperate attempt to keep them both still just a little bit longer.

Okay, we’re probably going to die, Robin concluded. Would have been nice for Mata Hari to warn him about that when she made her offer. 

“What is...” Sanson said breathlessly. His eyes didn’t waver from the creature above them.

“Shut up,” Robin hissed back and chanced another look at the creature. 

There was a reverberating snort through the monster’s body as it lifted its long, winding head towards the ceiling. Its form blocked out the already dim light in the hallway, making it hard to gauge exactly what they were up against. 

Robin could make some quick assessments: it was about as tall as a man at the shoulder and three times as long. It stood on four limbs that flowed like thick vines yet stood firmly like tree trunks. Locations where Robin would expect vulnerabilities, around the neck and the underbelly, were armoured with a carapace of sharp spikes. Definitely not the worst monstrosity he had seen, but the prospect of an Assassin and an Archer taking it on alone seemed to be a losing proposition. 

Whatever it was, it seemed more animalistic than what Mata Hari had expected. With a wide swing, it lumbered further down the hallway. It was almost too late when Robin noticed the razor-trimmed tail; this time, Sanson grabbed Robin’s upper arms and pulled the Archer directly to the floor beside him. The lethal appendage sliced through the air where Robin had been seconds before. 

Despite the cloak now being knocked off, the hound-like monster didn’t react to the two now-exposed servants. Maybe something else had found its attention. 

“We need to do something,” Sanson grumbled softly as he climbed to his feet, probably not aware of how trite he sounded. 

“Obviously, but did you get a good look at it?” Robin muttered back, gesturing down the hallway. The creature had disappeared into the distance, swallowed by the shadows and endless corridors. 

“If you aren’t going to help, I’ll do it myself.” Sanson’s arm braced slightly as it adjusted to the weight of his sword rematerializing in his hand. Without waiting for any reply, the man raced down the hallway, leaving Robin alone to listen to the footsteps fading in the distance. 

This was another uncomfortably familiar position. The last time this happened... 

Once a moron, always a moron. Robin let out a deep sigh and snatched his cloak off the ground. It wasn’t the first time their survival wasn’t guaranteed. If they both lived, it might be fun to explain to the actual security team tomorrow morning why the walls were peppered with crossbow bolts and the floors chiseled by sword strikes gone wide. 

Robin followed before he had a moment to reconsider what a terrible idea this was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a reference to the song Stay by Oingo Boingo, specifically the version from Boingo Alive (<https://youtu.be/8A2MwKA6jW0>)


	2. Of Diving in Too Deep And Possibly the Complications

In the distance were two sets of footsteps, if you could even call them that. For the sake of his grip on reality, Robin went with footsteps. 

One set was clearly humanoid. Their rhythm was heavy, lacking the fluidity of someone who knew what they were doing. Had this been centuries ago, Robin would have pegged that person as an easy target; some noble-turned-wannabe-commander who clawed their way through the ranks with power instead of experience. Given that those footsteps belonged to Sanson? At least Robin’s instincts hadn’t dulled with time. 

The other set moved with a disquieting pattern, sounding like military hardware dragged through a swamp. But, at the same time, not like that. Reversed, somehow? Like the mud was stepping onto the wooden wagon and not the other way around. Trying to calculate the creature’s movements based on the sounds made Robin’s head hurt. 

Then, both footsteps stopped. Robin picked up his pace. 

The Archer’s cloak was tailored to make him a shadow in the forest; comparably, being untrackable in the halls of Chaldea was relatively simple. Less changes in light to accommodate and no twig snaps to silence. Neither party would notice his approach. 

Sanson’s breathing gave away his position. It was ragged from the sprint, with an exhaustion that sounded more emotional than physical. Robin almost overshot the narrow side hallway the other man was standing in; the Archer’s cloak hood slipped off as his feet quickly pivoted, bringing him to an abrupt stop. 

The incomplete screech from Robin’s boots snapped Sanson’s attention to the end of the hallway. The Assassin swung his shoulders and feet into a defensive position; the broadsword now gripped tightly in both hands, pale eyes peering over the collar of his long coat . 

“Of course it’s you,” Sanson sighed. His upper body and face relaxed, the sword lowering. The Assassin didn’t look much worse for wear, Robin concluded. Stressed, sure, but he didn’t have a scratch on him. 

The choice of words, though, knocked the wind out of Robin; the Archer mumbled something about being caught off-guard, not even considering exactly what he said. Sanson acted as if he didn’t notice. 

The hallway wasn’t remarkable. Large metal cabinets lined one of the walls. Each one had a small plastic panel on the front, similar to the door locks, although Robin didn’t have the faintest idea what was stored inside. Tiny lights across the front of the cabinets looked like a sky of red and green stars. They did little to actually light up the hallway; dark shadows painted the many corners, but there wasn’t any space for a monster of that size to go. 

“I want to say it’s gone,” Sanson said as Robin walked past him. “I don’t know if that’s true.” 

“It’s obviously not _here_ anymore.” Robin shrugged. 

His eyes adjusted to the darkness instantly; there weren't any signs of a battle, much in the same way he didn’t hear one either. The hall was clean, with no traces of blood or that strange blue ickor. 

“You got a closer look,” Robin said, looking back towards Sanson. “Did you recognize it? Maybe from one of those weird medical books that normal people aren’t supposed to read.” 

“I don’t think I know what it is, but...” Sanson shook his head, then stared down at his hands, still clinging to the sword. “It acted like it couldn’t see me.” 

Alright, the existential breakdown express had arrived right on time. 

“Let’s go with ‘No’. Where did it go?” Robin asked. He stepped carefully back towards the end of the hallway. Depending on where the monster went, they could use this alcove as a base of operations. 

“Go?” Sanson paused for a moment, as if to consider how to explain what happened. “It slipped into the corner that the scrub dispenser makes with the wall.” He gestured towards one of the cabinets. That must be what they were. 

Robin grimaced. Slipped into the corner? He pulled up his cloak, vanishing from the hallway, and slowly padded up to the cabinet. There wasn’t anything particularly special about the look of the corner; it was definitely a space where flat surfaces came together. He carefully reached out to the wall and knocked it. Solid. No strange smells or sounds. Definitely no tracks, not that Robin was expecting any. Nothing was left of the creature. 

“I don’t get it,” Robin said, pulling back the hood again so Sanson could hear him. “It’s like it melted into the shadows.” 

Sanson huffed. Robin could hear the faint click of metal against tile; without looking, he could sense that Sanson was resting his sword on the ground. It was a subconscious gesture of concentration rather than anything else, Robin figured. The existential crisis must have passed for the moment. In solidarity, Robin kicked at the corner the creature ran away into. 

“Could it have an ability like your Noble Phantasm? Or a spirit form?” Sanson suggested. Out of the corner of Robin’s eye, he could see Sanson pointing back at his cloak. 

“Eh?” Robin glared harder at the corner. “Like that thing was a servant. I doubt the Throne records dreck like that. More importantly, we’d be able to touch it if it was camouflaged. It’s not like I actually disappear when I do it.” He crouched down and waved his hand deep in the corner. It didn’t touch anything unseen. 

“I see your point.” There was a rustle of fabric as Sanson adjusted his coat. “This seems to be your field of expertise. What do we do now?”

Wait. Since when did that stubborn Frenchman defer to him? Robin could feel heat unexpectedly rushing to his face; he kept looking away to hide it. 

It had been completely different on the mission. The two of them butted heads from the moment their feet touched ground in the pseudo singularity. Fujimaru refused to pair them together for recon work. Only Mata Hari had been bold enough to force them to cooperate. 

As the days rolled on, it was increasingly clear someone or something was putting the team in their crosshairs. That changed things. It had been a mistake to entertain growing close to others, Robin decided, but that was the position he found himself in. 

Their enigmatic enemies came for Mata Hari first. The evening of her execution featured heavily in Robin’s nightmares. Sanson didn’t handle it much better. As Robin plotted to destroy the gallows, he could hear the other man’s voice yelling over the rising winds, pleading to the Witchfinder General’s sense of humanity to stop the execution. They both failed. 

In the chaos that followed, Sanson decided to play double agent without telling the rest of the team. And then... 

“Are you alright?” 

Sanson’s voice cut through the memories and Robin was back in Chaldea. Back in this stupid hallway looking for a dumbass monster that outwitted both of them. 

Robin lifted his head and rested his hands on his hips, idly fiddling with the small pouches on his belt. They could talk about the past later. He dodged Sanson’s direct question: “I’d start with poisons, but I’ve got no idea what that thing is, let alone what’s gonna hurt it. You?” 

“What do I look like, a veterinarian?” Sanson said. There was a brightness to his voice that Robin wasn’t expecting. It had been a joke, even if it was a weird one. 

Robin offered a grin as he looked over at Sanson. “That would leave us with subter--”

White hot pain ripped into Robin’s right shoulder. Instinctually, he reached up to grasp at it. Something was holding the shoulder firmly in place; he couldn’t move to escape. His eyes locked with Sanson, who stared back in horror. 

The monster was definitely behind him. 

The tiny bit of Robin’s focus that wasn’t shattered reminded him that he was more durable now than as a human. The stab wound would hurt like hell, but wouldn’t necessarily kill him. 

Then he remembered the strange blue liquid the creature had spat out when it appeared earlier. 

“Don’t flinch.” 

In the haze of pain, Robin hadn’t seen Sanson approach. The man’s voice lacked the warmth it just held. The broadsword swung behind Robin’s back silently and the grip on his shoulder released. His knees buckled; only a honed reflex to brace himself prevented him from rolling forward. 

“Damn it!” Robin cursed, tapping the sticky tube now protruding from his shoulder. 

Sanson stood between Robin and the monster; it stood reemerged partway out of the wall corner. Black mist poured from invisible tears in reality, flowing down onto the floor and out into the main corridor. The creature’s strange tongue was missing; the fresh wound in its mouth spurted out blue pus as the creature grunted. 

“Can you walk?” Sanson asked without turning around. He effortlessly adjusted his sword in his hands, blocking off more of the creature’s path.

“Running away is a lot more appropriate,” Robin snarked back, despite the pain it caused. 

The monster lunged forward, a long limb spilling between Sanson’s legs and reaching out for Robin. Sanson quickly brought his sword down on the creeping tendril before it could strike; a sharp whistle trailed as the blade cut through the air. The monster didn’t react until the blade connected with flesh, gurgling and folding the limb back into the darkness. 

On a hunch, Robin flipped up the hood of his cloak over his head. Any focus that the monster had snapped; its head recoiled into the mist. 

“We need you to get to an infirmary,” Sanson said, wasting no time. He didn’t bother waiting for Robin to reply. “Down the main hallway, four doors on the left. Keep the hood up. Lock the door behind you. I’ll make sure it doesn’t follow.” 

\--- 

There shouldn’t have been anything particularly eerie about Chaldea’s medical facilities. Robin normally didn’t hold strong opinions on them, other than making it a point to stay the hell away. The best fight was one that was over before it started, after all. 

If the abandoned equipment elsewhere in Chaldea raised questions, the equipment around and in the infirmary raised _concerns_. It was centuries beyond what Robin encountered in life, not that he had ever been a man of medicine. Actually, it had been the opposite. As such, there wasn’t a hope to intuitively know what half this stuff was. 

Robin hadn’t bothered to switch on the lights. The devices hanging off of the walls especially gave him pause; unexpected shapes, tubes and wires dangled in places he expected a monster to burst through. He adjusted his cloak carefully, making sure to not knock around the tube still jammed in his shoulder. The cloth still covered him. Nothing should be following. Hopefully.

A beep and click from the lock made Robin freeze in place, eyes on the doorway. Cold moonlight from outside spilled in as the panel slid open. Correction: one someone should have been following. 

“Why is it so dark? I need to see,” Sanson said as he stepped into the infirmary. His sword was gone again. Robin wanted to imagine that it was currently jammed somewhere in the creature’s body, but odds were Sanson had just dematerialized it. 

Robin took a big step back as Sanson fiddled with the room’s control panel; the infirmary lights flickered to life and made Robin squint his eyes. After testing to make sure the door was locked again, Sanson grabbed a cart full of what Robin would best describe as “assorted medical things” and pushed it in front of the door. It was on wheels and moved fluidly; it wouldn’t serve as much of a barrier, but at least Sanson was putting some thought into their situation. 

“I need you on the examination table,” Sanson said. He pulled a handful of small packages off of the cart and dropped them on a metal tray. “Keep the cloak on for now. We’ll be on a time limit once you take it off.” 

If keeping the cloak on wasn’t central to staying alive, Robin would have popped the hood off to make some quip about the blunt directions. Not that Sanson had much of a sense of humour. Except, maybe he did? There had been that strange exchange right before the ambush. 

The table was more like a really uncomfortable couch than what a table should be, Robin decided; thinly padded with no arms or back. Sanson approached with a tray of supplies. He had removed his coat and pulled on a pair of gloves while Robin wasn’t paying attention. There was a perplexed look on his face as he looked at the table. It probably just dawned on him that he wouldn’t be able to tell where his patient was sitting. If the mess they were in wasn’t so dire, it would have been hilarious. 

Sanson closed his eyes and sighed. “Could you move out of the way when I put this down?” 

Robin slid out of the way of the tray. Its contents didn’t make any more sense close up; there must have been some logic in putting metal tools into these packages, but Robin didn’t have the slightest idea why. Sanson ripped open one, popping it at the edges and squinting at the contents.

“I need to remove the...” Sanson paused, struggling to find the right word and eventually settling on the obvious one: “...tongue before we do anything else. You need to take the cloak so I can reach it. And so I can see it, obviously.”

That would start the time limit Sanson hinted at earlier, Robin figured, for however long that would be. This wasn’t his preferred strategy. Ideally, they would have retreated to somewhere more secure than an infirmary. 

Not like they had a choice, though. Robin rolled the cloak back as much as he could, knocking off the hood in the process.

“Have I mentioned how humiliating this is?” Robin asked, looking away at whatever was going to happen to his shoulder next. “The poisoner being poisoned. It’s worse than those plays we had to act out.” 

“If it makes you feel any better, it’s not poison,” Sanson said. 

Great. Death would still be coming for them, only just from the other side of the door instead of coursing through his veins. If that was the only break they had at the moment, Robin would take it. 

He could feel something shift in the wound. Robin clenched his eyes closed. He knew what would happen next; he had pulled plenty of arrows out over a lifetime. 

“Technically, it’s venom and not poison if it’s injected,” Sanson added, then pulled. 

“Fuc--” Robin’s rage was cut off by the sudden jolt of pain as the appendage was ripped out his back. His breathing slowly calmed down as his body readjusted to the change. “What the hell was that about?” 

“I think it successfully worked as a distraction.” There was a damp metallic clang as Sanson dropped the tongue and whatever tool he used into the metal tray. “We can bandage the wound and stabilize the arm. You’ll need more treatment later, but it’ll get you back up again for now.”

Forget any earlier whimsical thoughts about this man, Robin thought to himself. To hell with him and his sense of humor. 

“What about the, uh, venom?” Robin asked, then winced as the wound was quickly cleaned and bandaged. It didn’t hurt as much as it did right after the attack, but he knew that dull ache wasn’t going to fade for a while. 

“I don’t know. That’s the ‘more treatment’ part,” Sanson said, securing down the ends of the bandages. “There’s not a lot of research about servants and toxins. We’re disposable in the greater scheme of things. You probably know more than the experts here.” 

Robin frowned and glared at the floor; there was a lot to take apart in that statement. Behind him, he could hear Sanson stepping over to the sink. 

“If the venom was meant for a human, maybe it’s not strong enough to harm a servant?” Sanson raised his voice over the sound of the running water. At least there was an attempt to sound reassuring this time. “Do you feel any shortness of breath? Numbness in the extremities?” 

“Nothing remarkable,” Robin said. He flexed his left arm. It still worked fine; that was promising. 

Still, Sanson’s voice of words about the monster earlier nagged at him: _“I don’t think I know what it is, but...”_ They only had so long before the creature would presumably attack again. 

“Are you sure you don’t know anything about that hell-beast?” Robin called out, making sure Sanson could hear him clearly. 

Sanson didn’t immediately reply. Robin looked over at the other man. He was leaning on the edge of the sink, the water still running. There was no knee-jerk defensive reaction like when Robin asked him about the mission. Small victories. 

“The more I dwell on it, the more strange it seems,” Sanson said. He turned the tap off with a paper towel. “I feel like I should know what it is but I don’t know how I came to that conclusion.”

“Then, what the hell is it?” Robin asked. That could be the break they needed. They wouldn’t be able to survive another battle if it played out like the last one. 

Sanson pulled his coat back on and adjusted the sleeves. “Again, I couldn’t tell you properly. I’ve been calling it a ‘Thief-Taker’ in my mind.” 

Robin glowered. He could put together how Sanson came to that name. “That’s especially not funny.”

“Time-Thief-Taker, then.”

“Whatever. Let’s make a break for it and find our Master.” Robin carefully pulled his cloak back up over his shoulders and slid off of the examination table. His legs seemed to be working as well. Maybe a side trip would shake out more of Sanson’s memories. “A quick First Aid or Cure-All spell should solve any problems with my arm. Then we take care of Nightmare-Fuel back over there.” 

Sanson took several long strides towards the door and blocked Robin’s path. Robin narrowed his eyes; whatever Sanson had in presence, Robin knew he could more than match in speed and stealth. 

Predictably, Sanson took the opening play. He spoke in a firm voice: “We can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Robin took a step towards Sanson and leaned forward, intentionally trying to provoke him more. 

“Time-Thief-Taker. It’s just a theory that I have.”

Robin blinked. 

Sanson over-explaining his thoughts on the monster wasn’t the next move Robin expected. He was anticipating some bullshit about not fighting with an injury and a potential poisoning. Being the brave hero and making a final stand wasn’t high on Robin’s priorities.

“Spit it out, scholar.” Robin interrupted before the other man could ramble more. 

“You rayshifted. I haven’t in this body. It’s attacking you, not me. It cannot get deeper into Chaldea,” Sanson said in a brisk, intense tone, as if to drive home his point. 

It felt like Robin’s heart stopped. This was bad.

Robin took a sharp breath and nodded. “We have to stop it before it finds anyone else.” 

No more details were needed. If the Time-Thief-Taker targeted prey who meddled in time and space, that made their Master the most obvious target. Even if it didn’t find Fujimaru, the body count as the monster toured Chaldea could be unthinkable. 

On the surface, killing the Time-Thief-Taker as soon as possible seemed like the safest answer. In practice, it was going to be anything but. Idly considering their options, Robin tried to move his right arm. The shoulder throbbed; he grabbed it with his left arm without thinking. That was going to be a problem. 

“I recommend not doing that again,” Sanson said under his breath. 

“I believe the modern expression I’m looking for is ‘bite me’,” Robin hissed. 

“Why is your first instinct to--” Sanson snapped back. 

The door creaked, icing the argument before it could go further. Faintly, from the other side, was a sound like a fluid-filled sack smacking against the wall. Their weak fortifications held for the moment. 

They had run out of time. 

“Subterfuge. We need to stop it before it knows what’s happening,” Robin said. “I think we still might be able to work that angle. Maybe without my usual tools. It can’t seem to see you. I can hide from it. We can use that.” 

“You’re a better Assassin than me,” Sanson said. “The condemned came to me, not the other way around.”

That made sense, Robin reflected. When called upon to fight the undead in the pseudo singularity, Sanson’s technique was to anchor his feet in front of the approaching horde and hold them back while the rest of the team unleashed all manner of hell. It had been effective enough against waves of monsters. It lacked the finesse that would help them now. 

“If I can’t poison it or use my right arm, that leaves us with only a few options,” Robin said, gesturing at his injured arm. “We need to think outside of the box.” 

“Fair.” Sanson sighed. “What are you considering?” 

“It slips in and out of tight corners,” Robin explained. “We could lure it into a long hallway and try to stop it from reaching any corner with three walls. Preferably, a hallway narrow enough where it can’t turn around.”

“There’s some narrow hallways that cut across between offices,” Sanson proposed. “The medical rooms are never used in the middle of the night unless it’s an emergency. They should be empty.”

“I like that idea,” Robin nodded. He fancied himself more a scout than a leader, but positive feedback couldn’t hurt their chances. “I’ll pull my cloak up, make a break for it, then reveal myself and lure it on a merry chase through the halls.”

“Alright, that gets it into a position,” Sanson said. “Then what?” 

“Once we have it trapped, you use your Noble Phantasm. You know, the French-sounding one,” Robin said. 

The dismissiveness was an act; Robin knew the Noble Phantasm’s True Name. Further, he knew what those words meant. He had even yelled them once at Fujimaru to prove a point. It wasn’t his greatest moment. 

“There’s a complication,” Sanson said. 

Second thoughts? At a time like this? As the pounding at the door grew louder? They didn’t have time. 

Robin took a guess at the problem: “We can beg forgiveness for using it later. We are the overnight security team, remember? We don’t know how to poison it, so we need to do something else. Most things don’t live after getting their heads chopped off.” 

Sanson scowled at Robin’s reply. “How much faith do you have in your actions?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Robin said. It seemed out of character for Sanson to make a threat. That said, it was hard to read it as anything but one. 

“My _French-sounding Noble Phantasm_ is stronger against those who feel guilty,” Sanson explained. “I’m not sure how that works against a creature not of this world. We can certainly try it, but it might not do anything to the Time-Thief-Taker.” 

“Then why bring up my self confidence?” Robin asked. It still didn’t make sense. 

“If I unleash it and it doesn’t recognize Time-Thief-Taker as something it should attack, I don’t know what happens.” 

Sanson couldn’t maintain eye contact as he explained himself. Robin realized, in that moment, the emotion Sanson was projecting wasn’t anger. It was fear. 

Robin walked over to Sanson and squeezed the other man’s shoulder. Sanson lifted his head slightly, just enough to exchange a glance with Robin. 

“I trust you not to kill me,” Robin said with a smile, and then pulled up his hood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhh.... pandemic stress and plot pacing being what they are, this is now a four part story. I wouldn’t take anything in here as serious medical advice. You are not a Servant and probably don’t have the Medicine A skill.
> 
> Chapter title is a reference to the song Overkill by Men At Work (<https://youtu.be/N2kN4DGyWag>)


	3. Atmospherics After Dark, Noise and Voices From the Past

Salem, the first night.

“What exactly are we working with, boys?” Mata Hari asked with a grin. Despite the strange events surrounding their stage performance that evening and resulting standoff in the town square, the woman was in high spirits. 

Servants were often expected to keep details like True Names and abilities closely guarded secrets. Most mages considered servants to be living weapons, not people. Revealing too much to your enemies could get you killed or worse. 

That a servant could collaborate with a team of peers would have been an unimaginable dream, except that was Robin’s reality right now: hidden deep in the forest, lit only by the traces of starlight that trickled through the fall leaves, trading personal information with a spy and an executioner. The atmosphere felt profoundly melancholic, as if Robin was longing for a similar moment in the past that didn’t exist. 

Mata Hari described their current complication as “The Medea Situation”: the spy was adamant that their teammate wasn’t who she claimed to be. Only Robin and Sanson had been invited to discuss the matter further. 

“I guess we should start with Presence Concealment,” Robin said. He wasn’t accustomed to working with Assassins. Hell, he wasn’t really accustomed to working with anyone. Still, he knew the worth of an Assassin was tied to how well they could hide themselves from others. 

Mata Hari smirked and winked back. “You’re funny, Robin. I like that about you.”

What was that supposed to mean? Wait. Robin couldn’t recall the woman whisking herself off into the shadows since they had arrived in the singularity. If anything, her presence reminded him of warm summer sunshine, not grim deeds done in dark alleys. 

“But you’re an Assassin. Isn’t that what you do?” Robin asked, then looked back over at Sanson. There was nothing nearly as poetic about the other Assassin; he remained expressionless and simply shook his head.

“What the hell?” Robin grumbled. 

“Think of me as a master of metaphorical backstabbing instead of the physical kind. The person who tells the hero information they overlooked,” Mata Hari said, then snapped her fingers as a thought occurred to her. “Like the supporting characters in your legends.”

Robin rolled his eyes. Not this again. “Yeah, those people didn’t exist for me.” 

Sanson spoke up next. “If I were to hazard a guess, our unusual class assignments might have something to do with the Throne struggling to categorize edge cases.” 

Robin folded his arms and leaned back on one foot. “In your case, a lack of Presence Concealment because the aristocracy can’t help but stand out in a crowd.” 

“The line between covert and cowardice is very thin,” Sanson cut back. 

“Which means we’re going to have to rely on Robin for recon work,” Mata Hari interrupted, dousing the sparks before any punches were thrown. If Robin’s count was correct, this would have been the third time she intervened since this meeting started. “I’m happy dealing with anything that requires directly interacting with the locals. Charles might be best suited for situational work, especially given the new judge who arrived tonight.”

The way Mata Hari casually dropped Sanson’s given name caught Robin off guard. It was probably the first time he had heard anyone actually say it. Now that he thought about it, they had paired off together to investigate the town earlier. 

“You two are on a first name basis already?” Robin asked. 

Mata Hari didn’t flinch. Sanson immediately looked at the ground. Robin sighed. He could guess what happened. 

“It hasn’t been 24 hours,” Robin said, letting his discontent bubble up through his voice. “What about the mission? All of those people that went missing? Making sure our Master is safe?” 

“Considering you’re clearly aware of the stakes, being angry about us taking a moment to blow off steam is petty.” Mata Hari rested a hand on her hip, her face still radiant. Robin didn’t even need to pry to confirm his suspicions. 

Robin started listing off the facts as he saw them: “We’re trapped in a Singularity. We have no means of contacting Chaleda. We’re in a village collapsing into madness. Our team has been compromised. And you stopped to get laid?” 

Mata Hari leaned in and beamed. “If you’re that jealous, you’re welcome to join us next time.” 

“If we were anywhere else, sure. Not here.” 

“Why? It won’t be the first time you’ve had sex in the woods.” 

Robin gritted his teeth at Mata Hari’s relentlessness. Sanson’s only explanation for himself was to awkwardly cough and otherwise remain silent. 

“Let’s discuss combat prowess.” Confident she had won whatever skirmish just played out, Mata Hari moved on to the next topic. “While I think we’re all in agreement that Nezha is the most capable of us, I don’t think she’s particularly well-suited to this arrangement.”

“You don’t trust her?” Sanson asked, finding his voice again. 

“I do,” Mata Hari said. “But I think she’ll immediately reach for violence when she realizes our team has been infiltrated. It’s a good defensive strategy but not a great offensive one.”

The reasoning checked out. Robin thought back to how Nezha started a brawl in the town’s tavern that afternoon. The remark that triggered the Prince’s rage was minor and impossible to predict. Nezha finding out that she had been betrayed might end with Salem in flames. 

“Direct fights aren’t my thing,” Robin admitted with a shrug. “Even if all three of us cornered the demon pillar, I wouldn’t like our odds.” 

“We’d call for backup in that case,” Mata Hari said. She fiddled with a strand of stray brown hair as she collected her thoughts. “Without Nezha with us, we’ll need to depend on each other to defend ourselves until help arrives.” 

And that was absolutely not what happened in the days that followed. 

\---

Robin did one last spot check. 

His cloak was securely latched around his neck. The bandages Sanson applied to his wounded shoulder held firm. His crossbow was locked in place on his right arm, for as much help that would be with the injury. Various hold out weapons lined his outfit: poisons, a handful of hidden blades and a garrote wire were in reach but out of sight. 

The first rule of combat was to only pick fights you could win. If you knew you couldn’t win, cheat so you did.

Their plan of attack seemed straightforward as Robin rattled it off in his head: he would lure the Time-Thief-Taker into a narrow hallway where it couldn’t escape or turn around. Sanson, following from behind, would attack and preferably kill it in one strike. The Time-Thief-Taker should be completely focused on Robin; something about rayshifting seemed to have pissed it off. That would give Sanson enough of a distraction to unleash even a Noble Phantasm if needed. The next morning they’d both be heralded as heroes. 

It was a clean strategy in Robin’s mind. Solid. Probably the best he worked with in a while. 

He glanced back at Sanson. The other man gave a nod of acknowledgement. He was dressed as light as he could be; his sword was dematerialized and his long coat left open. Their plan needed him to keep up as much as possible, not be armed to confront the creature directly. 

With a firm shove, Robin rolled their flimsy medical supply cart barrier away from the infirmary door and smacked the door release button. As the panel slowly slid open, he stood in the centre of the doorway, making sure anything on the other side could get a clear view of him. 

The display of bravado went against all of his gut instincts. Robin could feel his stomach recoil as he came face to face with the monster.

The Time-Thief-Taker stood outside in its full glory, its body a mass of pulsing muscles and sinuous limbs. Its pointed head loomed over Robin, the gaping wound in its mouth spitting blue sludge. A trail of the liquid traced its route down the hallway to the infirmary, leaving a growing puddle at Robin’s feet. It was the same liquid that was flowing through him right now. Yeah, best not to dwell too hard about that. 

“I can’t say I’m excited to see you either,” Robin snarked, then flipped up the hood of his cloak. 

Reestablishing contact was important. Direct fighting, not so much. Hidden in the space between shadow and light, Robin wove his way around the creature, leaping over and around its drifting limbs. 

His feet dodged the resulting splatters as the creature’s head lurched. Its body rumbled with a sound like the rattle of dying cattle as it tried to scent the air. 

Not that would do the Time-Thief-Taker any good. Robin had evaded packs of tracking hounds at least once or twice in his actual lifetime. That was before he had the faintest idea what a Noble Phantasm was and that his cloak could become one.

Robin sprinted down the tile-lined hallway, his footsteps and pulse pounding in his ears and nowhere else. His eyes adjusted quickly as he raced past pools of moonlight from the bright night sky outside. 

The trick would be getting just enough space between him and the Time-Thief-Taker before luring it away from the infirmary. That’s where Robin’s mind should have been completely focused. He wasn’t trying to think about Sanson. There was no reason to be worried about Sanson; all the evidence so far indicated that the Time-Thief-Taker couldn’t sense the Assassin, even when they were standing in front of each other. 

There was an abrupt shout of surprise from behind. The grinding of bone against metal and plaster followed. Robin’s world stopped. He spun around, threw up his right arm and launched an arrow in response. 

Robin’s logic caught up to his emotions at the same time the crippling pain hit. His right arm pulsed from the recoil. He pulled the arm back down just as quickly as it had gone up. What a foolish idea that had been. 

The arrow went wide. It figured; there was no way Robin could have aimed thoughtfully in his current state. It clipped the monster’s back and landed in the ceiling panels. 

The Time-Thief-Taker pivoted its dripping maw towards Robin. It didn’t look directly at the Archer, only roughly the direction the arrow came from. The monster whipped its tail about, striking anything in reach. Clearly, it was searching the area for any attackers it couldn’t see. It wasn’t as stupid as it looked. 

Sanson lay on the ground with his arms covering his head. Based on the way the Assassin landed, it was a defensive position and not the result of being struck down. That wasn’t as reassuring as it should have been. 

“Over here, dumb ass!” Robin yelled, tugging off his hood. 

Robin didn’t have as much distance he wanted. Sanson would lose time getting back up and have to race to catch up. They could work with that, Robin thought. The monster just needed to be lured away from Sanson as quickly as possible. 

Pull it down a side hallway. That was still the plan, right? The Time-Thief-Taker seemed to have figured out that its attackers could hide their presences and that striking at the shadows was a valid strategy. With nothing left to lose, Robin shouted more curses at the creature and sprinted further down the main hall. A dull plodding followed behind. 

First up on the right: the alcove where Robin found Sanson earlier. It definitely wasn’t long enough to work and wouldn’t buy them enough time. The Time-Thief-Taker would be on top of Robin before Sanson could catch up. The next opportunity, then.

Robin spotted what he wanted ahead: another hallway that intersected with this one, one that looked just wide enough to imply more use than the alcove. Based on his pace, he should be on top of it in seconds. He needed to decide now if this was where they’d slay the beast. 

Chancing a glimpse over his shoulder, Robin noted he put some space between him and the Time-Thief-Taker. Sanson still trailed further behind. That was an easy enough problem to fix; Robin abruptly and sharply slipped around the hallway corner. The sudden movement should surprise the Time-Thief-Taker, keeping Robin a safe distance ahead while buying Sanson a precious few metres. 

As Robin swung around into the new corridor, he knew something was off. The walls started tilting to the side. Wait. Maybe that wasn’t the walls at all. 

A curse slipped out of Robin’s mouth as his left leg spun out; this should have been a simple maneuver, not one that led to him falling to his ass. Robin maintained the barest amount of control, just enough to fall with his left shoulder forward. The landing against the cold floor sucked, but at least it wasn’t his right shoulder eating the blow. 

_“Do you feel any shortness of breath? Numbness in the extremities?”_

Sanson’s questions from the infirmary echoed through Robin’s mind as he found himself staring up at the ceiling. Robin took in a deep breath of air as he reassessed. That still worked, for as much as a servant actually needed to breathe. Left arm? Sore but otherwise intact. Right arm? Let’s not discuss that. Left leg? Hurts like hell, probably overextended. Right leg? Best limb for the moment. Being flat on the ground? Dire. 

Robin lifted his head and scanned the hallway he prized seconds ago. A wheeled metal cart, about 6 feet tall and loaded with folded sheets, was just beyond his reach. That’ll do. 

Fighting fair was overrated, anyway. 

The scent of death that followed the Time-Thief-Taker filled the corridor. Robin didn’t bother to look back; he yanked himself back up with his left arm and lunged at the cart. With as much strength as he could rally, Robin slammed the cart back into the creature.

There was an incongruous thump as the Time-Thief-Taker’s lanky body twisted in and around the metal frame. Bed sheets tumbled off the top shelves as the creature howled and rattled the cart. 

Robin grinned to himself as he realized what happened. The Time-Thief-Taker couldn’t free itself nor escape into the corners of the cart. The cart was an accidental monster trap. Sure, it was an unsporting win, but Robin would take it. 

The sound of metal grinding against ceramic interrupted Robin’s moment of success. The top of the cart loomed closer than the Archer remembered it. The creature’s limbs wound up the cart’s frame; the cart’s fall toward Robin gained speed with every passing second.

Stepping backwards, Robin’s heel hit a wall. He had two options. Either load an arrow and try to go through the creature and the cart, or slip into spirit form and end up wherever lay on the other side of the wall. 

Robin would never describe himself as “a coward” in those specific words. 

He still took the second option. 

\--

Salem, the sixth night. 

At least, that’s where Robin assumed he was. It was very clearly no longer Chaldea. 

Robin found himself standing in a tent more majestic than practical. The delicate fabric and opulent trims were suited more to a distant fantasy landscape than the dark forests of Massachusetts. He remembered not having a vote in the camp’s design, despite the concerns he raised about the townspeople finding it. 

The tent was a product of the Queen of Sheba’s Territory Creation skill; that strange woman had _ideas_ about living comfortably, even as everything else around them was descending into madness. You could always count on nobles to think of themselves first. 

None of this explained why Robin was back here, though. The spirit realm should have dimly echoed the surrounding physical realm, not a place lost to time and space after the host singularity collapsed. Maybe he was dreaming? At least his right arm didn’t hurt anymore. 

The next question Robin had was if this illusion was based on his own memories or impressions of what could have been. What details would be lost on an outside force messing with his head? Oh, right; he should be naked right now. Robin glanced down. Definitely naked. 

Linens rustled behind Robin. He looked over his shoulder, finding Mata Hari stretching out on top of a ridiculously ornate bed. Her bare body was partly concealed as it sunk into the cloud-like bedspread. The spy had adjusted to life in Sheba’s camp like she was born to live in a royal caravan.

Robin frowned, recalling how their meeting happened tonight. Hopkins was dead. Sanson was arrested for the murder. Robin didn’t mourn the asshole’s death but Sanson’s confession and the blood splattered scene the team found didn’t add up. The only other witness was the Williams kid, who was conveniently sick with raging fever back at the safe house. 

The future of the mission now uncertain, Robin sneaked out to the camp to update Mata Hari. The woman acted like she didn’t carry any concern or guilt on her conscience. Robin followed her lead in what followed after. Maybe he hoped it would help things make sense. It didn’t even help as a distraction. 

“Why doesn’t it bother you?” Robin asked. 

Mata Hari rolled her shoulders toward Robin, her tousled hair sliding over her chest. Her intense eyes reflected the light from a nearby lantern. The expression reminded him of the silent fury he had seen on the faces of doomed soldiers back during his original lifetime.

Robin expected Mata Hari to reply by questioning why the situation bothered him so much, to which he would reply that she was misreading him. Then the topic would be dropped and the two of them would never discuss it again. 

“Let me speak from experience,” Mata Hari said instead, looking Robin directly in the eye. “If you have any remorse or regret for what’s happened, you’re going to have to deal with it tonight. Otherwise, you’ll have to learn to live without closure.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Robin actually did have a pretty good idea of what Mata Hari was talking about. 

“You wouldn’t be the first man who’s lied to me about being detached,” Mata Hari said. She rolled back into the bed, laughing quietly to herself.

“I don’t understand why you find that funny,” Robin said, then snatched his clothes from the floor. 

Robin could make out a smirk on Mata Hari’s face, just peeking above the blankets. “Something about having your soul laid bare in court because some random man didn’t understand the meaning of ‘no strings attached’.”

Robin silently nodded in reply. There was nothing more he could add to that statement.

“It doesn’t bother me in the same way as you because I’ve been here so many times before,” Mata Hari finally admitted. “I’m not sure why I expected things to be different. Maybe I was just hoping for something better. I guess I was more naive than I thought.” 

There was a weariness in her voice. It reminded Robin of the way Sanson confessed to the murder and the weight that he felt crushing down on his shoulders now: resignation.

\---

It hurt to breathe.

Robin’s sight shifted back into focus, adjusting to the new shadows and pushing against the pain returning to his body. Guess this part wasn’t a dream. Would it have killed Sanson to have offered a painkiller or even a chunk of willow bark back in the infirmary? 

He found himself now in a room filled with piled up furniture and mismatched pieces of technology. The filing cabinets and desks lining the walls were left with their drawers half open. It was hard to tell if the office had been abandoned or was still being taken apart. It could have been worse, Robin figured. At least he didn’t end up in a closet. Or dead. Again. 

The carpeted floor under Robin was damp and smelled metallic. Blood, obviously; not a lot, but just enough to notice. He slowly searched his body for a source. There weren't any fresh wounds from the last encounter with the Time-Thief-Taker. The bandage covering his shoulder was missing. It must have fallen off when he shifted into spirit form, given Sanson used a physical bandage. The security lanyard was gone too. 

“This sucks,” Robin said to himself. Nothing replied, servant or otherwise. Great, he had a few moments to collect his thoughts. 

The Time-Thief-Taker had an ability to learn and adapt to their attacks. What did the monster know now? That Robin could phase into a spirit form would be brand new information. The creature must have noticed his cloak and the second attacker it couldn’t detect from the exchange in the alcove. The other Noble Phantasms? Still would be a mystery, although using Robin’s required solving the poisoning problem and Sanson’s needed the other man to be here. Maybe Sanson cornered the monster back in the hallway and all this stress was pointless? 

There was a beep from across the room. 

Did the Time-Thief-Taker find his missing security badge and learn how to open doors? That was probably the anxiety talking. Still, Robin gingerly climbed to his knees and reached for a hold-out dagger hidden in his boot. 

A tall man with short white hair stood in the dim blue hallway light as the door opened. Robin let out a sigh of relief. 

“How did you get in here?” Sanson asked as he stepped up to Robin. He carried a wad of blood-stained bandages and a dangling ID card in his hands. His sword was still dematerialized, Robin noted. 

“I made a tactical withdrawal in spirit form,” Robin explained, gesturing to the far wall with the dagger. “Did you deal with the monster?”

“No.” Sanson’s eyes followed where the blade pointed. As the man continued and described what happened, Robin could pick up an uneven tone in his voice: “I heard the crash and found a tipped over laundry cart. Nothing else. No creature. No you.”

The other man’s expression shifted from its normal reserved facade to something else. Concern? Apprehension? Robin considered himself to be a fairly good judge of character but Sanson always seemed to be slightly out of sync with his expectations. That was true on the mission, too. 

Robin looked away. There was a dull ache deep inside that had nothing to do with his injuries. He wanted his teammate back.

Nah, that wasn’t quite right. Robin wanted his stubborn, weird friend back. The one who threw himself into the front line of a firefight without flinching. The one who effortlessly exchanged verbal barbs across a battlefield. The one who over-explained simple details during mission updates. The one who had compassion for Salem’s paranoid locals. The one Robin buried in a New England forest after those same people had him executed. The one who looked exactly like the man who stood in front of him right now. 

“You keep asking me about how much I remember,” Sanson said, even without Robin bringing up the topic. He looked down at the bandages in his hand, then shook his head.

“I don’t know if this is the right time to talk about that,” Robin said, then looked around the room to see if any shadows had shifted. This man’s sense of timing was terrible. 

“Is that honestly the case or are you pushing me away?” Sanson tossed the bandages on top of a nearby desk. 

The air in the office stirred, then was filled with a shower of wood and plastic shards as the desk was torn apart. 

Robin shifted back into his physical form as the debris finally stopped raining down. It was only instinct that drove him to immediately take cover in spirit form and avoid the blast. Across the room, Sanson lay in a pile of what was a desk seconds ago. Robin could make out a groan from his general direction; the man seemed to be alive, although he didn’t make an immediate attempt to get back up.

Standing on the far side of the office was the Time-Thief-Taker, the bandages clenched in its maw. The vicious tail transformed the creature into a vortex of destruction. 

It tracked the blood on the bandages, Robin concluded. It was only sheer luck that Sanson tossed them instead of placing them down. 

“I’ve had enough of this bullshit,” Robin growled to himself, then called over to Sanson. “Maybe dying won’t be as lonely this time?” 

“What are you talking about?” The other man’s voice was strained, but he was conscious enough to reply. 

“I promise I’ll explain later,” Robin said, dragging himself fully back up to his feet. He kept his eyes on the Time-Thief-Taker; the monster seemed more fixated on finding Sanson than him this time. Big mistake. 

Sanson brushed off chunks of the desk from his shoulders. Immediately, the Time-Thief-Taker swung its tail down, slamming into the ground where the wood fell. The wicked spikes on the end of the tail split the shards into even smaller fragments. The Time-Thief-Taker followed the shifting terrain that Sanson left in his wake, striking where the man had been seconds before. 

Realizing that being slowly chased back would end with him pinned against a wall, Sanson planted his feet firmly into the wreckage and summoned his sword. The office was filled with an inhuman screech as the Time-Thief-Taker unwittingly brought its tail down on the blade. 

That was Robin’s opening. Against every voice in his head telling him that this was a terrible idea, he tossed himself on top of the monster. 

Landing on the creature’s neck wasn’t exactly like landing on a branch; movement with intelligence was trickier than predicting a tree rocking in a storm and the deadly limbs only added to the difficulty. Robin wedged his dagger into the dense scales on Time-Thief-Taker’s neck. It didn’t cut as deep as he wanted. The make-shift piton wouldn’t hold Robin’s weight for long. 

As the Time-Thief-Taker rolled its neck in pain, loose strains of the bandages stuck in its mouth drifted up. Robin snatched them with his left hand, then wrapped them quickly around his arm to form a more secure handhold. He pulled back firmly, getting a snarl of surprise from the monster. The Time-Thief-Taker’s focus shifted, swatting aimlessly with its tail at the attacker on its back.

“Should have let go of them earlier,” Robin said to the monster, then yelled down at Sanson. “We need to kill it now!” 

Pale blue eyes connected with Robin’s own. The atmosphere in the office shifted; the electric scent of activated mana overwhelmed the Time-Thief-Taker’s foul stench. 

“Moving to enforce sentence!” Sanson cried out. 

Noble Phantasms were a peculiar disparity between servants. Robin’s own were small in scale and scope; a cloak that could hide his location and a bow that could accelerate and amplify poisons. Sanson, on the other hand, could call forth a massive guillotine from the aether. It was so tall that it faded into the ceiling of the office and, Robin assumed, metaphorically kept going into whatever lay beyond. 

That was Robin’s cue to get the hell out. With one last jarring tug for good measure, Robin grit his teeth, grabbed another hidden dagger from his belt and sliced off his handhold. The Time-Thief-Taker howled with its new found freedom. It twisted its head back, snapping at Robin’s feet. The Archer returned the attack by kicking it in the muzzle. 

“La Mort Espoir!” 

The Noble Phantom's True Name was released. Robin could feel his cloak blow back as shadowy tendrils shot through the spaces between him and Time-Thief-Taker. Definitely time to go.

The monster didn’t seem to see or react to the countless appendages surging forth from the guillotine in search of a target. Robin lept off, landing soundly on the ground between the Time-Thief-Taker’s impossible limbs. As he was about to escape from the chaos, something grabbed Robin by his legs and pulled him back in. 

Robin refused to believe Sanson’s fears were correct and his Noble Phantasm couldn’t hit its intended target. Managing to tilt his head to the side slightly, Robin could just barely make out one of the monster’s vine-like limbs dragging him along towards oblivion. 

“To hell with this,” Robin cursed, then raised his right arm while bracing it with his left. Hitting a precise target in this state would be almost impossible, but the arrow just needed to hit _something_. Straining to keep his focus in the whirlwind of moving shadows and unspeakable terrors, Robin pointed the crossbow and fired. 

The recoil wasn’t enough to knock his shoulders back to the floor, but the pain was. Robin’s cry was drowned by the Time-Thief-Taker’s roar as the arrow presumably hit. The grip on Robin’s legs released. 

Then, silence. 

Robin idly raised his left hand up to his neck; his head still attached, thankfully. He rested his shoulders back on the floor and sighed. Mata Hari was going to get so much shit later this morning from him, after the custodian and actual security teams chewed them all out for this mess first. 

Footsteps rushed up from the side, uneven and unsure. Sanson drifted into the edge of Robin’s vision; the Assassin softly said something in French as he processed the scene. Robin didn’t really understand what was said, not even enough to repeat it, other than it sounded like the other man was happy to see him alive. 

“I may have doubted other parts of you, Charles, but I never questioned your aim,” Robin said. 

\--- 

Sanson finished packing up the medical supplies and cleared his throat. “I’ll spare you the speech about what you should and shouldn’t be doing with that arm. It’s clear you’re going to make your own rules.” 

“How much am I allowed to drink while recovering?” Robin asked with a grin. 

Sanson made a face. It was so dramatically stern that it had to have been a joke. “How big of a glass can you lift with that injury?”

Robin didn’t bother to ask about smoking. 

Much of Chaldea was utilitarian in design; it was more a pseudo-military base than a comfortable home for mages and summoned heroic spirits. The space the two men found themselves in now was a small sunken seating area just beyond the medical department. The short walls surrounding them were curved; there wasn’t a sharp corner anywhere in sight. 

The seating area was disused, much like everything else they encountered tonight. Sanson had to clear off a cardboard box full of empty three-ring binders from the couch before Robin had a space to sit down. 

“I guess this is the end of our patrol?” Sanson asked. He stood back up and stuffed his hands in his pockets. 

“I’m not getting trapped in a closed room with another one of those things,” Robin said, leaning back against the couch. He pointed at the injured shoulder, now freshly rebandaged. “Didn’t you notice that I don’t do so great in one-on-one fights?” 

“I thought your skills and actions were commendable given our circumstances,” Sanson said. There wasn’t any detectable sarcasm in Sanson’s voice. 

“Well...” Robin glared back at Sanson, knowing he couldn’t hide the flushing in his face. He looked away before continuing. “Thanks. I rigged the perimeter while you were cleaning up the couch. Just some small bits of simple magic so we’ll know if something tries to sneak up on us.” 

“You’re always thinking ahead.” The bright moonlight gave Sanson’s white hair an unearthly glow. It was like looking at an undisturbed snowy field at night.

Leaning cautiously into the connection Sanson kept trying to form, Robin offered a small flourish with his cloak. Maybe it was the poison talking? Or was it venom? 

“I’d brag about how a lofty noble complimented a lowly commoner on his smarts, but you’d just interject about how you’re not a noble.” 

Sanson slowly closed his mouth. Robin smirked back; the other man was absolutely getting ready to say exactly those words. 

“I remember that,” Sanson said instead. “How we fought in the cafeteria. I never told you before the mission how resentful I was that we were assigned to the same team.” 

“Believe me, it was as clear as crystal how you felt,” Robin said, then looked at the empty space on the couch beside him. “Do you want to sit down or something? We have hours before this shift is done. I’ll try to do my best to not die until then, but your legs might get sore.” 

Sanson’s shoulders visibly tensed under his long coat. His reply was sharp. “I don’t know.” 

Robin scratched the side of his head. He thought of Sanson’s reaction right before the Time-Thief-Taker attacked: the distance and the distrust the man displayed when Robin avoided his questions. That hostility felt like it melted away as the evening spun out of control. Robin wasn’t sure if that was Sanson making the change or himself. In either case, it left the two men at a new, uncertain normal. 

“As I see it, you have two options,” Robin explained, holding up two fingers. “The first is to stay over there. We never have to talk again. You walk away from tonight with a weird tale about the time you fought a demon that stalked prey through corners. I’m sure it’ll be a hit at your queen’s next tea party.” 

Robin could feel his chest grow tight; as much as it surprised him to admit it, it definitely wasn’t the outcome he wanted. 

“What’s my second option?” Sanson asked. 

“You join me on the couch and we talk about anything you want,” Robin explained. “Maybe that’s nothing at all. I’m going to guess you have a lot of questions, though.” 

That was the invitation that Sanson apparently needed. Without hesitation, he pulled off the black long coat and tossed it over the back of the couch. The couch cushion shifted down slightly as Sanson sat down behind Robin; rolling with gravity, the Archer leaned into the Assassin’s side. It was comfortable there, warm in a way Robin hadn’t expected. 

“I guess I should have asked first,” Robin mumbled into Sanson’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” 

“For leaning against me?” Sanson asked. He reached out and brushed the side of Robin’s hair, as if to reassure the other man that any confused feelings in this moment were mutual. 

“No. For everything.”

Sanson sat in silence for a long moment before finally speaking. 

“I’ve tried to piece together a narrative. Something to make some sense of what happened in Salem,” he explained. “I read the after mission reports you and the rest of the team filed. I read the plays, too, but those seemed more bewildering.”

“Uh? How were they confusing?” Robin asked. Given what happened later on in the week, the performances were tame in comparison. 

“Have you read them recently? All three Jeannes on stage at once? Fighting Ozymandias and Karna?” 

“Don’t worry, you were great,” Robin reassured the other man, pressing deeper into his shoulder. “If Mata Hari wasn’t there, you would have been the town’s favourite actor.”

Sanson seemed a little flustered by the comment. “Uh, sure. Whatever you say, Robin.”

Hearing Sanson say his name felt good, despite it being a name Robin only took on recently. “Who else in the troupe was a doctor? The commoners loved you.” 

“Master Fujimaru tried to explain to me what happened,” Sanson continued, dropping the topic of his very brief acting career. “How everyone was incarnate in Salem and discovered that dying meant physically dying again and losing any memories of Chaldea. If the deceased managed to be resummoned, they wouldn’t be the same people. They would be a fresh version from the Throne of Heroes.” 

Those facts were ones Robin was stuck on as well; maybe suggesting that Sanson was the same person as the Sanson with the away team was overstepping. 

“I know the Sanson who went on the mission was arrested for murdering Matthew Hopkins, of all people, and executed. But, I don’t think I’m a different version of me. A new Charles-Henri Sanson from the Throne shouldn’t remember things like stealing dumplings with Marie and d'Eon or...” Sanson stopped and frowned. “...other things. That raises the question of who or what am I?” 

“You don’t remember anything.” Robin said, plainly, rather than asked. He shifted to look up at the other man’s face. 

“None of the events, at least. All of the truths about the Sanson who went to Salem feel like clinical details presented with no context.” 

“What do you mean by that?” Robin asked. The man still talked like the Sanson he remembered, though. Talk about missing the forest for the trees.

“It’s like listening to someone tell a boring story about yourself. I don’t think everyone is lying to me about what happened in Salem, but I don’t understand what drove those decisions. They become things that happened and nothing more. People can’t remember my emotions for me. I think, though, I might be remembering emotional impressions. That or my brain is trying to fill in details.”

Robin could feel his eyes glaze over. “You’ve seriously lost me. Try telling it to me a different way?” 

“Maybe examples might help?” Sanson suggested. “I know that before the mission, I wouldn’t be comfortable being open to people or even touching them. The way we’re together right now wouldn’t have happened. But it is happening and doesn’t feel wrong. I can’t explain why that’s changed.”

“Alright,” Robin said and closed his eyes. “I can try to answer your questions. Where do you want to start?”

“What...” Sanson trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words. “...actually happened in Salem?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a chapter 3 appears! 
> 
> Chapter title is a reference to the song Listen to the Radio, specifically the Pukka Orchestra cover (<https://youtu.be/HEEOGWSoTyk>). I went back and added the song references and links for the earlier chapters as well.


	4. Show Me All the Light and Shade That Made Your Name

“What actually happened in Salem?” 

Robin would have preferred if Sanson asked a question about the meaning of this life after death or how rayshifting worked or why the Time-Thief-Taker travelled through corners. Any of those questions would have been easier to answer than the one presented. 

Where do you even start with a question like that? Maybe from the beginning? Robin cleared his throat. 

“The rayshift dropped us off in the middle of the night. Or maybe it was early morning? The sun wasn’t up yet in either case. The first thing I remember was looking up at the stars and being surprised that I could see them. I was prepared for the sky to be pitch black because of the magical barrier.”

“Are you sure you aren’t feeling any worse?” Sanson said, interrupting Robin’s retelling. The man gently stroked Robin’s forehead. Sanson’s attention was focused on his hand, calculating whatever abstract information he could gather from the touches. 

The intensity of the interaction was unnerving. Too many confused feelings in Robin’s mind were bubbling up all at once. 

“Obviously it still hurts like hell,” Robin said, reaching and grabbing Sanson’s wrist. 

The Assassin quickly took a hint and stopped, not fighting back against Robin’s grip. He seemed unsure as to what was supposed to happen next. Robin’s move had been a mixed signal at best.

“I still have my wits about me, if that’s what you mean,” Robin clarified, looking for a graceful disengagement. “Do you want me to continue?” 

“Those are all details I read in the reports.” Sanson dodged answering the question and pulled his arm free. He leaned back, stretching out his legs as he untangled himself from Robin. 

Robin adjusted himself to sit cross-legged on the couch. The Archer suppressed a displeased frown, keeping his unexpected disappointment bottled up for the moment. 

Sanson looked up at the ceiling and continued with the retelling himself: “We walked through the forest until we came upon a clearing. We found a group of young girls there. They were performing a magic ritual. It attracted unusually aggressive wild animals. We intervened. One of the girls was named Abigail. She stayed behind and thanked us for protecting her.”

Everything Sanson related was phrased as concisely as possible. Robin wondered how many times Sanson had read and reread the reports to come to that particular distillation. 

There was also the matter of the words “we” and “us”. Earlier, Sanson had made references to “the Sanson who went on the mission” while referring to the events. That wasn’t the case here. Sanson had mentioned having feelings about what happened, despite how coldly he treated the recap. That could be the result of reading the events as a story and imagining himself as one of the characters. It explained the word choice now. 

It was a practice Robin was personally familiar with, but he didn’t push the topic further.

“Right, then the girl’s uncle showed up,” Robin prompted, keeping the flow going and not showing his cards.

“Raum.” The shift from an analytical tone to a single word full of emotion caught Robin off guard. Sanson’s voice was heavy with anxiety, as if the man was afraid that just saying the demon’s name would bring him back. 

“He called himself Carter at that point, but to hell with him,” Robin said, nodding in agreement. 

“I don’t understand the judgement call the other me made.” Sanson rested his head against his hand. “I consider myself a decent judge of character, so why did I trust him? Or why did the other me trust him? Or--”

Ah, that’s what was happening. Of course. Robin felt like a fool for not picking up on the pattern earlier. He reached over. Sanson flinched as Robin’s fingers touched his cheek.

“Are you blaming yourself for everything going off the rails?” Robin asked.

“I feel conflicted about it.” Sanson swallowed hard and looked down. 

For all of the turmoil surrounding Sanson’s atonement, it didn’t address the underlying cause. It gave him enough peace to stay buried when the other dead rose up again. It didn’t heal the Assassin’s lingering self confidence issues. It was clear to Robin that those went all the way to Sanson’s records in the Throne. Separating the Sanson who existed now from the one who went on the mission must have been a coping mechanism. 

“You weren’t the only person Raum fooled,” Robin said, trying to use his most reassuring voice. It was long out of practice. “Can I say it was you who went on the mission and not some other version of you?”

“Sure,” Sanson replied with slight hesitation. 

“Okay,” Robin said, noting that Sanson’s jaw felt less tense after answering. He pulled his hand back. “We met Carter in the forest at that point. I guess no one told you about the bet you and I made about him.”

“Bet?” Sanson blinked.

“About if he was secretly evil or not.” Robin smirked. “If you lost, you were going to play in my weekly poker game and kick Billy’s ass with your Luck skill.” 

“I agreed to...” Sanson stared back at Robin in complete shock. “I take back everything I said earlier. I’m not taking responsibility for any bets the other me made!” 

“It was a joke!” 

“As was that!” 

“Your sense of humor is garbage, you know that?”

“It’s gallows humor.”

“You somehow made it worse!” 

Robin clenched his eyes tight shut and took in a deep breath. It figured his attempts to lighten the mood would end this way; no good deed of his went unpunished. He could hear Sanson quietly laughing beside him. 

“Hey,” Robin said. The word mixed with the breath he let out as he relaxed again. “Did our pact come up in any of the reports?”

“Is that another joke?” Sanson’s reaction seemed earnest. Robin knew he didn’t mention it in his reports. Presumably, Mata Hari didn’t either. 

“No.” Robin shook his head. He kept his tone serious in case Sanson assumed it was a set up to another punchline. “Miss spy suspected we were compromised early on. The three of us agreed to keep an eye on our witchy teammate. To protect everyone else, heroic bullshit like that.”

“Nothing like that was mentioned,” Sanson confirmed. 

“I’m not surprised. Out of the lot of us, you would have been the one to report it,” Robin said with a shrug. “The agreement worked well for a day or two. Then, things got complicated.”

Sanson didn’t seem shaken by the vagueness of Robin’s explanation. Rather, his face lit up, as if a bunch of unknowns suddenly made sense.

“When people say that a situation became complicated, what they mean to say is that the situation became emotionally charged,” Sanson said, giving Robin a sidelong glance. 

“That’s an awfully dry way to put it,” Robin commented. He subconsciously reached for the edge of his hood. 

“I’ll state it directly, then,” Sanson said. Robin could have sworn he heard a bunch of gears clicking in place in the man’s mind. “Did I have sex with Margaretha?”

“Oh yeah.” Robin nodded.

“And you were involved with her as well?” 

“Once,” Robin said, again with a nod. He dreaded what was coming next. 

“Only once?” 

That wasn’t the follow up Robin anticipated. Robin hesitated, not sure what to say next.

“Did we have...” Sanson said, filling the void Robin left open. 

“No,” Robin interrupted. It wasn’t a sharp denial, but immediately Robin started second guessing how the answer came across. He grabbed the edges of his cloak tighter, fighting back the urge to disappear. He fell back to the cursed word from earlier: “It’s complicated.”

\---

Salem. The sixth night. 

The jail guard dropped to the floor with a dull thump. 

Neither the arrow in the guard’s shoulder nor the poison that laced it were fatal. Robin still didn’t expect the guard to rise before the sun did. 

It remained unclear what would happen if the Chaldean team settled the mission by killing everyone in the singularity. It had been suggested as a solution; a way to force an end state instead of events playing out as the mastermind had intended. 

Robin knew he was fully capable of crushing their opposition into submission overnight. He also knew that their Master wanted to keep everyone on the team alive. When given the choice between ending countless lives or saving a single one, Robin decided on the second option. The noble decision now tested his patience. The faster this could be all settled, the better. 

Things hadn’t changed much in four hundred or so years. Jail security was still a joke. Robin patted down the guard, quickly locating an iron ring full of keys. Latching the keys on to his belt, he swiftly dashed deeper into the shadowy corridors. 

The jail was comically oversized for a village this small. The halls smelled like the builders had no regard for keeping the wind and rain out. It reminded Robin of the prison breaks and rescues attributed to his namesake; cartoonish spaces where the captors were clearly evil and the infrastructure was less functional and more set dressing for swashbuckling escapades. 

As for the prisoners, the late judge had been brutally efficient in cleaning out the jail. Only one still remained. Robin tapped the bars of the occupied cell with the keyring. The metallic sound echoed throughout the jail. 

“Of course it’s you,” Sanson said, looking up from a bed pushed against the far wall. He sounded underwhelmed by the turn of events. 

“What the hell?” Robin snapped back. He idly spun the keyring in his fingers. “That’s the first thing you say to me? No thanks for rescuing your sorry ass?” 

“You don’t need to rescue me.” Sanson pulled up a threadbare blanket and rolled to face the wall. Robin could only imagine the annoyed look that must have been on the man’s face. 

“With this court’s conviction rates?” Robin grabbed hold of one of the cell bars. “My guess is you’ve got maybe twelve hours to live, tops.”

“Don’t you think I’ve noticed?” Sanson’s shoulders sank deeper into the bed.

Robin shrugged. “About as much as you’ve noticed the stick shoved up your ass.”

That was the line that did it. Sanson tossed the blanket to the floor and stomped over to the cell door. He was smaller than Robin remembered him; without his black long coat, Sanson looked like a normal person and not a magical familiar constructed from the records of history. 

“Stop trying to get inside of my head and leave this place,” Sanson demanded. His hands were clenched into fists, his shoulders tight. 

In complete defiance of Sanson’s authority, Robin slipped a key into the lock. First time was a charm; the key effortlessly clicked into place. 

Sanson reached through the bars and grabbed Robin’s arm, pinning it against the outside of the door. Robin twisted his wrist to try to pop open the lock. Sanson grasped tighter. The sudden jolt through Robin’s arm knocked the keys to his feet. 

“Don’t unlock the door,” Sanson firmly said. He was close enough that Robin could feel his breath. 

“Here’s a tip: back up your empty threats.” Robin pulled back against Sanson’s grip. “Not like you can call on your judge friend anymore.” 

Sanson’s expression darkened. “Hopkins wasn’t my friend.”

“Bullshit.” Robin narrowed his eyes and leaned even closer. 

Sanson was now completely focused on the stare down, giving Robin an opportunity for another angle of attack. The door bars were wide enough to get an arm through. Robin still had an advantage in strength and agility, even in these incarnate bodies. A sucker punch should solve the problem. Knock this idiot out, haul him down to the camp, deal with the fall out in the morning. Behind his back, Robin clenched his free fist. 

“Our Master dies if you let me out.” 

Was that a bluff? Robin’s mind raced. Something didn’t feel right. He thought back to the scene that afternoon. The forest air was heavy with the scent of blood and dirt. Sanson’s presence there seemed out of place. He was many frustrating things, but the man was an executioner and not a murderer. Robin couldn’t imagine him turning his sword on Fujimaru.

Robin relaxed his arms. He didn’t fight back against Sanson as the two stood in a parody of a standoff. 

“Why?” Robin asked. 

Sanson stood speechless, as if he wasn’t prepared for Robin to take the claim seriously. Robin nodded towards him silently, prompting the other man to answer.

“Because someone needs to die tomorrow,” Sanson finally said. “If it’s not me on the gallows, it’ll be another one of us. Her cover story is she’s our employer. The town is going to hold her accountable if I escape.”

There had definitely been strange things lurking in the New England forests. The local wildlife stalked the townspeople with unnatural bloodlust. Unspeakable horrors rampaged through the countryside every night. Still, sacrifices upon the altar of the gallows was a reach. 

“That asshole put crazy ideas in your head,” Robin said. He should have forcibly pulled Sanson out of Hopkin’s house days ago. It would have saved everyone a ton of trouble tonight. 

“We can’t fight this,” Sanson pleaded. His grip on Robin’s arm shifted; it was less that Sanson was holding Robin’s arm in place and more like he was clinging in desperation.

“Maybe...” Robin started to say one thought, only to lose his words as a reaction driven by pure instinct kicked in. “Maybe we could have fought back if you hadn’t run off without telling anyone your plan.”

Sanson closed his eyes and let go of Robin’s arm. The Archer drifted away, taking a step back to put himself out of reach. He left the keys on the ground.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Sanson said, resting his arms against the inside of the cell bars. His voice sounded tight. “Margaretha was dead. I didn’t want anyone else to die.”

A sudden realization hit Robin: Sanson didn’t know about Mata Hari. How could he have? He ran off to attack the zombie hoard while Robin stole Mata Hari’s body back. Maybe that information would get Sanson to shake off whatever brainwashing Hopkins did. 

“She’s not dead,” Robin said. The words were more direct than comforting.

“What do you mean?” Sanson asked. He wiped his face with his shirt sleeve. “She died in front of us.” 

Robin scratched the back of his head. This was going to be unpleasant. 

“She faked her death. I didn’t find out until after. She’s hiding on the edge of town and was very much alive when I saw her a half hour ago.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” Sanson’s voice reverberated through the jail walls.

Robin wasn’t quite sure what reaction he expected. Anger wasn’t at the top of his list, but he guessed it made sense. He glared at Sanson. The other man scowled back through the bars.

“I don’t know,” Robin yelled back. “Because you abandoned me?!”

“You expected me to stand by your side after how you treated me?” 

An uncomfortable silence followed. 

How they got to this point made perfect sense in hindsight. Chaldea had assembled a group of operatives who could protect their leader from a paranoid village. What that meant in practice was that Fujimaru was sent in with a team of extremely troubled individuals with significant trust issues. 

Even when Mata Hari requested they meet to share information, all three of them had remained evasive. They flat out didn’t invite Nezha. Mata Hari revealed she had been a spy, but refused to give more context. She claimed it was best off that the other two didn’t know more. That Sanson had been an executioner was common knowledge in Chaldea simply because Amadeus never shut up about it. Any further questions about Sanson’s lived experiences were answered with one or two words. As for Robin, he stuck with his old stand-by: he wasn’t the person they thought he was. 

Moving beyond this kind of deadlock wasn’t something Robin felt particularly skilled at. Mata Hari was better suited for this role, but she wasn’t here. What would she say to fix this? 

“You mentioned that someone needed to die tomorrow,” Robin said. Mata Hari always moved the conversation forward if he and Sanson came to an impasse. Sanson, at least, would respond to her direction immediately. “I don’t get it. How do you know?”

Sanson looked down at the ground. The anger had faded into exhaustion. “I have a theory. There’s something akin to a ritual at play. I don’t really understand how it works, other than this singularity hungers for corrupt justice and sacrifice. If the gallows are destroyed, they’ll be restored and continue to kill people. Stopping the trials so no one uses the gallows doesn’t work. I tried to get Hopkins to do that. The deaths found other ways to keep happening.”

“The judge was one of the sacrifices,” Robin said, folding his arms. 

“I came to the same conclusion,” Sanson said with a nod. He could barely lift his head. “The singularity used Lavina. She accused Hopkins of killing her family before attacking. It was probably enough of a trial to count. The singularity got its sacrifice and positioned her to be the next one. I had to step in.”

“That’s why you confessed to the murder,” Robin said, snapping his fingers. 

It wasn’t brainwashing at all. The murder scene felt wrong if Robin thought of Sanson as the culprit. It made sense if it was a crime of passion committed by a twelve year old kid. Robin had been in a similar position centuries ago: a young man who felt justified enough to take someone’s life. It never went as clean as the revenge fantasies suggested. 

“If the ritual can’t be stopped, then I’m at peace with being the next sacrifice,” Sanson continued. “It’s the atonement I couldn’t make in life. It should give you and the others enough time to figure out what the singularity is doing with these sacrifices and how to stop it. Please believe me.” 

Sanson rested his head against the cell bars, drained from the explanation. Without stopping to question himself, Robin stepped back up to the door and stroked the side of the other man’s head. He thought the hair would feel like sharp, short pieces of wire. Instead, the soft strands floated between his fingers. 

“I believe you,” Robin said quietly. 

“You shouldn’t touch me so kindly,” Sanson mumbled. “Don’t your people have cultural taboos about interacting with the condemned or executioners?”

Robin rolled his eyes. “My hands are pretty dirty already. You can’t make it worse. Trust me.”

Sanson gave a gentle sound of approval in response. Robin winced.

This wasn’t how the story was supposed to go. Robin Hood was supposed to outwit the corrupt local law enforcement, save the falsely accused, say some witty quote and escape to fight another day. It was, however, how things usually went down for Robin - miserably, with a good chance of being betrayed and bleeding out in a ditch.

If he were to do everything again, Robin predicted the mission would have a similarly grim outcome. That was just his lot in life. Still, he would have at least made a better attempt to welcome the stubborn Frenchman as a friend. 

“It’s lonely,” Sanson said, unprompted. 

“What is?” Robin asked. 

“Dying a second time.” Sanson smiled, weakly. He reached up to hold onto Robin’s hand. “I thought I would feel afraid. Instead, all I can think of are the people I won't remember.” 

\---

“I thought about sleeping with you after that,” Robin explained, finishing up the retelling. “I’d be lying if I told you I kept the door locked to respect your wishes.” 

“Then why did you leave?” Sanson asked. The man didn’t look sad. He didn’t sound detached, either. More contemplative, if Robin were to give the mood a name. 

“Because I knew you’d be dead in hours and I didn’t want to get hurt.” Robin looked off to the side. “Or hurt more, I guess.” 

“I wouldn’t have remembered anything.” 

“Yeah, but I would have.” 

For as long as Chaldea was still functioning and he was still summoned, Robin thought. He looked at the scattered boxes of office supplies that lined the seating area.

“I have a question about what followed,” Sanson said. 

“Shoot.” 

“The reports said Abigail only manifested her powers right after I was killed,” Sanson said, scratching the side of his head. ”Does that means the ritual and Abigail becoming a host--” 

“Don’t blame yourself for the whole possession thing,” Robin interrupted, grabbing Sanson’s shoulder firmly with his left hand. “That was a sealed deal by the time we got there.” 

“I never said I was blaming myself,” Sanson said. 

“But you were thinking about it,” Robin countered. 

“What I was actually thinking about was what hope we had of success. The ritual had already started before we arrived,” Sanson clarified. 

Sanson was a servant with hope in his Noble Phantasm’s very name. For him to question the point of everything felt precarious. Robin considered himself to be a nihilist at best, but there was something about Sanson’s paradoxical cynical optimism that was undeniably attractive. Even if he couldn’t understand it, Robin wanted to exist near it and stop it from ever being snuffed out again. 

“I’m not going to tell you to make peace with the mission, but would you like to hear my take?” Robin suggested. 

“Please.”

Robin tightened his grip. “That spooky kid still has the freedom to decide who she is and what she does. I’m going to take a wild guess that wasn’t part of the original plan. The girl who hangs around the base now, the one who only knows endless happiness and tea parties? She exists because of what you did.”

“What  _ we  _ did.” Sanson corrected. He reached up and touched Robin’s hand. 

Robin thought back to that cold night in the Salem jail. Sanson had reached for his hand then too. His first impulse both now and then was to pull away. 

“Have you taken a good look at me? I’m not a hero.” Deciding to seize the opportunity this time, Robin shifted his hand slightly, weaving their fingers together. 

“Neither am I,” Sanson said. His eyes quickly darted at their hands and back up again. “You’re shaking.” 

“I’m just terrified,” Robin said, dredging up as much pride as he could manage. 

“Terrified of what?” 

The question somehow managed to be even more open ended than Sanson’s question about the mission. Robin grimaced. 

“You ask the worst questions.” 

“Alright. I’ll ask an easier one,” Sanson said. He slipped his other hand under Robin’s cloak and around his back, mindful to avoid the bandages. “Do you still want this?” 

“Yes,” Robin answered with confidence. He shivered as Sanson’s fingers traced the edges of his armor. “Why do you?” 

“I don’t remember the original reason.” Sanson’s face flushed bright red as he tried to rationalize what was happening. “I don’t think this is a story where those memories will come back. But it could be a story about an outlaw and a man of the law who fall for each other, even if they can’t justify why.” 

It was a convoluted answer. Robin expected nothing less. 

Without waiting another moment, Robin leaned in and kissed Sanson. The kiss was gentle and soft, a testing of the waters before diving deeper. 

The move caught the Assassin off guard. His lips faltered at first, then eased as he found a rhythm to match Robin. He drew the arm around the other man tighter, pulling him fully into his lap. As Robin pressed down with his hips, Sanson broke off the kiss with a quiet moan. 

“You’re cute when you think too hard,” Robin said. He adjusted his legs to properly straddle Sanson and firmly pin him against the couch. 

Sanson attempted to shift his position, only to find his movement limited by the belts connecting his boots together. Robin made a mental note to reach for those later. 

“What you’re saying is you’re attracted to my intelligence.” Sanson managed to keep a hint of smug superiority in his voice, even as Robin looked down at him. 

Robin bit down on Sanson’s neck and reached for the man’s scarf. 

“You missed the obvious joke, scholar.” 

\---

Robin woke up to the sound of fabric rustling behind him. 

He didn’t startle awake. That had been trained out of him a lifetime ago. He slowly opened his eyes and carefully took in the surrounding space. The seating area was highlighted in shades of pale orange from the first rays of sunlight. The sound couldn’t have been Sanson; the Assassin was still asleep on the couch beside him. 

There was one other person in Chaldea who knew where the two of them were. 

“I know you can’t hide your presence,” Robin called out. 

“And I know you wouldn’t pull a weapon on me,” Mata Hari replied back. 

Robin lifted his head, giving the woman his best look of indignation over the back of the couch. She smiled back. 

“I didn’t expect to find you sleeping on the job,” Mata Hari continued.

“I’m probably dying,” Robin said, gesturing to his bandaged shoulder as he raised it up for Mata Hari to see. “Cut me some slack, sis.”

“What happened?” The woman raised a hand to the side of her face, tapping it as she listened. 

“Your cosmic entity didn’t want to reason,” Robin said, lowering the shoulder again. “Just wait until you hear about what it pumped inside.”

“But we did reason with it.” Mata Hari took several steps forward. “I came to tell you that the mission was a success.” 

The woman went silent as she approached. Robin assumed she must have only now noticed the scene in the seating area. Pieces of clothing lay scattered on the floor where they had been tossed and dropped. Sanson was curled up on the couch, his state of partial undress hidden somewhat by Robin’s cloak. Robin didn’t fare much better. He was grateful that Mata Hari found them first. 

Well, mostly. 

Mata Hari grinned. “Is the pumped inside comment a metaphor?”

“Literal.” A sudden realization hit Robin. “Not in the way you’re thinking. Charles said I’ll need a medic to confirm there’s no permanent damage. You owe us for this.”

“I can take a hint.” Mata Hari pulled out a small device and tapped some buttons. It had a sleek white and blue design, definitely Chaldea tech. A cheerful beep followed. 

Robin sighed, circling back to the other topic at hand. “You knew, didn’t you?” 

Mata Hari looked up from the device. “About what was going to happen to you tonight? Sheba didn’t warn me about you getting attacked.”

“Not that.” Robin rested his hand on Sanson’s leg. The other man didn’t stir. Mata Hari was right when she said Sanson was a heavy sleeper. 

“Oh, that.” Mata Hari giggled. She didn’t even afford him the dignity of a laugh. “Remember when I suggested a threesome on the mission? You went bright red. Charles couldn’t say anything. It was obvious I hit a nerve.”

“So this was all the result of your stupid joke?” 

“Joke? I was committed to following through,” Mata Hari beamed. “To be honest, I just wanted you and Charles to come to some sort of understanding and lay off of each other. Otherwise, the two of you were going to get someone killed.”

She wasn’t wrong in that observation. 

“What about pairing us tonight, then?” 

“You want me to give away all of my secrets?” Mata Hari frowned. She clipped the device back on her hip. “You told me you were a saboteur when you were alive. Imagine an untraceable poison in the mind that festers over weeks. It could even last for months if you want to play a long game. It drives the inflicted person to make destructive choices and second guess themselves. Eventually, it consumes them from the inside out. I’ve seen it before. I didn’t want it to happen to someone I considered a friend.” 

“See, this is why getting close to people is a mistake.” Robin said, reaching for his shoulder. 

“But do you regret it?” 

Asking broad reaching questions with no real answer wasn’t a Sanson quirk. It appeared to be a problem that plagued the whole Assassin class. 

“I don’t know yet,” Robin softly said, then shifted the topic elsewhere. “Before I forget, there’s a carcass we need to deal with.” 

Mata Hari stared back. “Literal or metaphorical?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a reference to the song Lonely in Your Nightmare by Duran Duran (<https://youtu.be/TGmxhcc7F6g>)


	5. Epilogue

The next morning’s debriefing wasn’t as dire as the one that followed Salem. The world didn’t almost end this time. There was no empty chair in the boardroom for a teammate who didn’t come home. Chaldea’s leadership already had some understanding of what was being reported on, although none of them seemed too happy to be talking about Great Old Ones again. 

The debriefing helped Robin piece together a fuller picture of what went down: the Abigail Williams who left to wander the cosmos with the real Randolph Carter had slipped away while her “uncle” wasn’t watching. She used her powers to travel to Chaldea and appear in Fujimaru's dream last night. According to Nezha and Geronimo, who managed to breach the dream, Abigail’s plan was to swisk their young Master away out of fear of something terrible in their collective future. Abigail couldn’t quite explain to anyone what that awful thing was and there was no way to question her now. Her presence faded as the night did. 

The whole scheme went as well as one could imagine, given that Abigail was still a twelve year old child. 

“Time-Thief-Taker?” Medea said with a laugh after Sanson reported on the events of the patrol. 

The witch had insisted on being involved with the debriefing as a subject matter expert. While Robin much preferred her to Gilles de Rais, the way the women brushed off Sanson’s name for the creature irked him. He glowered back at her.

“What would you call it, then?” Robin asked. 

“Are you trying to provoke me, ranger?” Medea said, calling Robin on his bluff. “I would call it by its true name: a Hound of Tindalos.” 

“It didn’t look like any mutt I’ve ever seen,” Robin said under his breath.

“They’re minions of Mh'ithrha and sworn enemies of Sut-Typhon,” Medea explained, having heard Robin’s comment. Her eyes twinkled in a way that reminded him uncomfortably of Circe. “Although, I doubt you’re familiar with either of those names.” 

“If you review my last mission report, you’ll see that I clearly use the name Sut-Typhon,” Robin said, gesturing to the piles of printed Salem reports tossed across the boardroom table.

“I would appreciate it if we got to the point.” Mata Hari rubbed the side of her head. “Hounds?” 

“Their prey are usually humans who meddle in matters of time,” Medea said. “The presence of an emissary of Sut-Typhon attracted the Hound to Chaldea. That it found the patrol first and they were able to handle it was a fortunate stroke of luck. Otherwise, it would be unusual for a Hound to target a Servant when there’s suitable human prey nearby.”

“That we neutralized the Hound speaks more to our ability to perform under pressure with limited resources, not our luck,” Robin suggested. 

“Perhaps. Or maybe someone was a quick learner.” Medea turned to Sanson. “Are you sure you didn’t read any strange books while in Salem, executioner?” 

Sanson knit his eyebrows together and shook his head. “I still don’t remember anything about that mission.”

Medea leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. “No, definitely luck.” 

\---

“Hound of Tindalos,” Sanson said, repeating the creature’s proper name as he stepped out into the hall. “I think my name was close enough.”

“That witch is full of it. Time-Thief-Taker is a great name,” Robin said. He was already waiting outside. “We shouldn’t have invited her to the debriefing.” 

“How’s the arm?” Sanson asked.

“Feels great! You can’t even tell I got stabbed!” Robin rolled his right shoulder wide, showing off the range of motion that had returned. “The med team said it was lucky that I’m a servant. It would have been rough if I was still incarnate.” 

“I guess so.” Sanson frowned at that remark. He coughed to clear his throat. “You mentioned last night that you didn’t want to get close to me in Salem because you were scared of getting hurt.”

“Things were bleak. I made a bad call.” Robin said, then thought for a moment. What was Sanson getting at? “Are you thinking about those visions of the future they talked about?” 

“It’s been in the back of my mind,” Sanson said, glancing at Robin. 

“Doesn’t mean that those vague bad things are going to happen,” Robin said. He reached over and patted Sanson on the back. 

“What if they do?” Sanson asked. “Or what if Chaldea is dismantled and we’re all returned to the throne? Are you going to run away again?”

Uncertainty loomed in the distance. Being a servant was a finite, fickle existence. Life in Chaldea was a best case situation for magical familiars who would otherwise be treated as weapons. There were countless other questions still left unasked: Wasn’t this guy married in life? What about his loyalty to his countrymen and queen? Would they remember each other once they were returned to the throne? What if they were summoned into a war on opposite sides? 

“I’ll take you with me if I run away again,” Robin offered with a shrug. 

Sanson smiled back. “Do you want to stand together at the edge of the abyss until then?”

The man had a flair for the melodramatic. Robin had to admit that it was one of his more charming qualities. 

“Cosmic horrors have already accused me of stealing time,” Robin boasted. “How hard could it actually be?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Afterword**
> 
> It’s finished! And somehow much longer than I expected. 
> 
> I adore the Robin/Sanson pairing, obviously, even if they don’t have a lot of traction in the English speaking fandom. Hopefully this fic made your day a little bit brighter. Let me know by leaving a comment. 
> 
> Thanks and love to the following:  
> Rob, for being a supportive partner and coming up with the name “Time-Thief-Taker”.  
> Piet, who figured out that the monster was a Hound of Tindalos early on and was delighted to tell me.  
> Steff, who reminded me that I still fixate on themes of memory and identity, even a decade later.  
> My FGO Discord pals, for just generally being awesome. 
> 
> One final shout out: Check out my friend Richard’s RPG, What's So Gay About Robin Hood?, which was released while I was writing this fic:  
> <https://r-rook.itch.io/whats-so-gay-about-robin-hood>  
> Grab a friend, tweak the setting and see if Salem ends differently this time!


End file.
